Shadow Scales
by CorvusNevermore
Summary: Alternative Universe- Magic & Monsters. Constantly besieged by creatures known as Wyverns, the former King of Britain, William IV forged a blood pact with the Catalan Dragons in the hopes that beasts would fare better against beasts in battle. As a result the Draconic Branch was formed; a military unit where Dragons & Nobility partner up to shield the remaining populace. SebaCiel.
1. Chapter 1- An Introduction

**Shadow Scales**

 **Alternative Universe- Magic and Monsters. Constantly besieged by noxious creatures known only as Wyverns, the former King of Britain, William IV forged a blood pact with the Catalan Dragons in the hopes that beasts would fare better against beasts in battle. As a result the Draconic Branch was formed; a military unit where Dragons and Nobility partner up to shield the remaining populace against any further destruction. Yet, as Ciel Phantomhive, a protégé aristocrat with an embittered heart, rise up through the ranks to clasp onto the reigns of his own collared beast, he comes to realize that the horde of Wyverns might not be the darkest shadow to fall upon the land.**

 **Warnings: Slow Start, Multi-chapter, Violence, Blood, Death, Language.**

 **Chapter I- An introduction.**

" _Once upon a time, before the existence of dribbling streams or lakes; there lived four, mighty dragons. The first of the dragons had a body decked in bright, yellow scabs and spikes. The second was so lengthy that the ancients believed he could enclose the entirety of the old-world in his lustrous embrace. The third of the creatures had a shimmering underbelly that could only be likened to the iridescent beauty of a polished pearl, whilst the last and most elusive of his kind bore a scaled frame blacker than molten tar and orbs as red as garnets. One day, these beasts broke free from the spume of the ocean waves to glide amongst the clouds, each fold of their wings slicing through the balmy, summer breeze. Turning their attention toward the land, the dragons then noticed clusters of humans gathered together, their grimy palms stretched out toward the heavens in a wordless plea. It had not rained for many months, leaving the earth cracked and barren and the women and children weak with hunger. Taking pity on their brittle forms the dragons decided to help the humans by making their way toward the Sky King, for surely as a heavenly sovereign the King could make the clouds muster to soak the soil and wet the crops. To the dragons' delight, the King agreed to make it rain the day after the first Harvest Moon; but as the days lengthened into weeks the dragons assumed the King forgot about his promise. Desperate to aid the ever-waning populace, the timeworn beings made their way back to the ocean to scoop vast amounts of water into their mouths. Never pondering the consequences of their actions, the dragons circled back toward the lands, spurting sprays of salty water as they went. Feeling the droplets drenching their warm, parched bodies the humans immediately started to rejoice, cheering loud enough as to attract the notice of the Sky King. Furious that the dragons had taken matters upon themselves, the wrathful ruler trapped the dragons underneath the weight of a mountain, preventing the four beings from gliding amongst the tuffs of cloud or cool lather of the waves ever again. Even so, dragons were considered an indomitable species, not easily swayed by the spite of a single monarch. Altering their scaled forms into glistening rivers, the four dragons managed to escape their burdensome entrapment, all while continuing to support the humans they have grown so very fond of. And when the earth was fully moist and the first crops rocketed from their beds, the four rivers continued to surge southward, until they became one with the briny waves of the sea once more…"_

The soft lull of the Countess' voice was suspended by the crackling of dried wood, the orange flames lapping at the logs nestled within the fireplace and casting a convivial glow within the room. Beside her there was the faint rustle of fabric before a pale, little finger appeared to rub at the lilac ink depicting the Pearl dragon. The gesture was one the woman came to acquaint with the young thing each time she was made to read this particular tale, along with the awed intake of breath as soon as those dainty digits then settled, almost hesitantly, on top of the opaque horns belonging the Black Dragon. Considering their family's position within the Order of Britain the woman should scarcely be surprised by her dear one's infatuation, he was so like his father, as it were. Smiling adoringly at the messy strands of cobalt tucked underneath her chin, the woman swept her own cerulean pools across the intricate drawings, her view of dragons somewhat disillusioned by one particular lizard's horrendous appetite and uncouth scoffing. Perchance old age and the constant air of battle put a damper on one's metabolism? Nevertheless a polite smile now and then was yet to be the end of a species, particularly one as prehistoric and enduring. The noblewoman was pulled from her chiding thoughts as her perch was disturbed, little fingers now coiling into a single ringlet of her strawberry-blonde locks. _"Mother, mother. I am going to meet a real dragon one day!"_ The countess held the boy's eager gaze, her own hand enveloping his in a habitual gesture. _"Oh? I believe you already have. Do you not remember?"_ At this the boy's nose wrinkled, body swaying to glance down at the book still open within his mother's lap. It was clear he wholly disagreed, after all Vincent's partner lacked those glorious wings and razor-sharp tail; attributes utterly distinctive of Ciel's favourite, mythical beings. Though sixty-seven, gruelling years have passed since the beasts, contracted by former King William IV, to aid Britain in its war against the Wyverns, Rachel herself was still in wonderment of all that their magic could accomplish. If a poised, debutante from the House of Durless could hardly fathom a dragon's metamorphosis into a faux body; then how could a coddled child possibly comply? It was enough to know that they could do it to appease their rider and Monarch and; unlike those two-legged predators whom slithered from the ridges of the West, devastating livestock and rustics as they went, held some compassion for all things living. The child agreeing (or perhaps choosing to just take his doting mother upon her word; she has yet to lie to him, after all) turned back to her kind eyes and quirked lips, his plump cheeks flushed from the heat emitting from the nearby hearth. _"Will you read it to me again Mamma, please?"_ Rachel inclined her head, a laugh resounding like small, copper bells following her son's innocent request. _"Oh dearest, let us save some fun for tomorrow as well, shall we?"_

As if born with the ability to sense the mood of his Mistress, a mannerly knock echoed off the dark oak not a breath later, the door giving way to reveal the form of the Estate butler. _"Do forgive the intrusion, my Lady, but I do believe it long passed the young Master's bed time."_ The greying retainer pinned the boy with a rigorous look, causing the child to squirm from where he was tucked against his mother's side. Rachel merely closed the book within her grasp, lovely features contorted in mirth. _"My, you are as strict as ever, Mr Tanaka."_ The butler's mouth twitched, cotton-clad fingers folded neatly behind his back. _"One needs to be when raising the next Earl of Phantomhive. Young'uns need rest if they are to grow. Yet, I fear if the young Master continues to elude his sheets he might not be able to reach his saddle come his sixteenth year. Dragons are infinitely taller than the ponies housed within the stables, you know."_ As the wrinkled hues of the butler had yet to leave the form of his charge, he instantly took note of the boy's bristling, small palms floundering to stroke over the lines creasing his nightshirt. _"Tch. I'm ready for bed, old man!"_ Slipping down the plush loveseat Ciel quickly by-passed the simpering servant, halting only to address his mother _. "Goodnight, Mother!"_ The Countess by this time was also on her feet, willowy arms raised to place the red, leather-bound book back upon its shelf. _"Pleasant dreams, my Darling."_ Rachel casted her son a tender smile in turn, said curve of lips faltering only once the library door clicked back into place. The zealous flames had long-since diminished to naught but a few smouldering, slivers of wood; shedding the chamber into shadow. Making her way towards one of the bay windows, the noblewoman found that the heat lingering within the library did little as to ease her sudden disquiet.

The responsibilities of those within the Order were onerous and the hours long, be it those blessed with Knighthood, the Secretarial Officers, Civil Officers and most conspicuously, those who found themselves within the Draconic Branch. The dragons were few and far in between and not all as eager as the Catalan to protect the land they shared with the humans. As such, in order for the blood pact to work, each potential Rider had to undergo a rigorous training programme commencing from the rider's sixteenth birthday. Once the potential candidate had undergone the necessary instruction, he would then be taken to the Cove to be introduced to those untamed but willing. As it were the dragons who chose their Master and initiated the enduring threads of the bond, chances were you might not be granted the title of 'Rider' if the dragon itself found you unworthy. It was no secret that only one of King William's four sons held magical potential potent enough to be granted the honour. Peering out at the desolate, dark grounds below Rachel could not help but hope that her dear Ciel would be spared from such a bleak fate. Though distinguished Dragon riders pronged from the Phantomhive line, she did not want her only child to be sent to the blood-splattered frontlines. She would never deny her young one the opportunity to partake in the programme, make no mistake, but Rachel trusted that Ciel would favour the path of a Knight or even that of a Secretarial brigadier.

Exhaling a solemn breath, the Countess rested a palm against the cool glass she was gazing through, clear cerulean flickering briefly to the black heavens above. Yes, she had faith. Though she had learned to contend with her loving husband's dreadful schedule and the occasional battle wounds marring his form, she would not accept the same of their son. Though the faint creek of the floorboards were not enough as to diminish her tangled thoughts; Rachel was aware of the new presence within the library, the scent of fresh cloves intermingling with the spoor of burnt kindling. Feeling herself unwind as soon as a pair of arms wrapped about her middle, the noblewoman easily gifted the handsome face reflected within her looking glass, an adoring smile. _"I thought you would never leave the confines of that study."_ The man hummed in response, cheek coming to rest against his wife's temple. _"If I had my way, I would never have to go in there. Alas, someone has to write up the reports for our assignments and I don't see Dee exchanging Tanaka's sandwich platter for a pen anytime soon. He really has a horrendous appetite."_ Shifting within his embrace, Rachel perceived the smell of burnt kindle to be more distinct with each inhale, the odour causing her chest to tighten uncomfortably. Chancing a quick look at the hearth, the woman was surprised to find that the dying embers had once again leapt to life, searing with a ferocity that could only be fuelled with those scented, lamp oils the servants used within their quarters. _"Vincent, did you replenish the fireplace when you came in here?"_ Brow slightly crinkled, the strawberry-haired woman was hesitant to admit that she was deeper within her prior thoughts than she initially imagined, but her husband merely shook his head. _"I have not. Is something the matter?"_

Slipping from the Earl's grip, Rachel altered her gaze from the rising blaze toward the entirety of the chamber, anxious hues finally detecting the trails of smoulder oozing into the library through the vent leading to her husband's study. Rising a clasped fist to her lips, the countess exhaled a set of coughs, whilst Vincent hastily reached for the fire bucket. As soon as the grains of soil filled the hearth, the orange flames lashed out, extending to the Persian carpet stretched beneath their feet. Hissing in alarm, the Head of Phantomhive pulled his wife from the window just as the flare of scorching heat latched onto the seam of the curtains, spreading quickly across the rail. _"This is the work of magic, we can't extinguish it."_ Vincent's narrowed, almond hues darted from his wife to the increasing flames, many thoughts racing through his mindscape. How could magic, especially in such an astounding quantity, have penetrated his shield? The dragon rider inspected the safeguard himself once excused from dinner and nothing seemed amiss. _"Rachel we need to get to the door!"_ Wounding his fingers around her thin wrist, the Earl tugged the petite woman forward, the shrill cries of approaching Wyverns sounding from the beech trees encircling the grounds. Vincent could not be sure if the creatures' attentions were drawn to the manor due to the fire being a beacon, the supposed failure of his shield or if the magical composition of the flames were linked to their presence in some other, sinister way. Twisting the doorknob with renewed urgency, the rider had to raise an arm to screen his eyes from the swell of heat and smoke that engulfed them in a flourish, the door banging into the wall.

Not even the sudden rise in temperature could prepare the young couple for the scene at hand. The entire West Wing of the manor was entirely engulfed in licks of orange and red; tapestries and antique, oil portraits a poor barrier against the blaze. It was almost like the fire was drawing all traces of magic from each corner of Vincent's childhood abode, like an insatiable parasite out for blood. Feeling Rachel's body sag against his own; the Earl glanced down to meet her wide orbs, the blue pools misty with unshed tears. _"We can't get to Ciel, Vincent our path is completely impeded by these flames."_ Hesitating, the Earl brushed his begloved knuckles against her cheek in what he prayed to be a comforting act, own gut twisting into poignant knots. Why. Why did he not sense any traces of magic seeping passed his shield? _"Forgive me, my dear."_ His mouth curled into a resentful smile, before his gaze was pulled toward the opposite end of the corridor where Tanaka had since appeared, desperately batting at the angry inferno. The Earl supposed that with these many Wyverns about, their cries in time with the wicked sizzling of his belongings, the Order could very well be on their way. He and Rachel might not be able to make it to immediate safety, but if Tanaka could get Ciel passed the treeline, they might be able to meet up with Dee. Vincent closed his orbs at the thought of the ill-mannered Lizard, the dragon no doubt in a tirade at the anguish he must be sensing from his Master. Shifting, Vincent glanced back at the man who dutifully raised him after Claudia's death, his voice pitifully hoarse as he cried out. _"Tanaka! Don't waste your time trying to conquer those flames, they're composed of magic! Get Ciel, get Ciel and meet up with the Order!"_ Even as those words left the Earl of Phantomhive's lips and his consort's lithe, pale fingers wound their way into the fabric of his dress shirt, Vincent could not help but feel some semblance of sanguinity through all the chaos. If only Ciel could somehow escape undetected and find his way to the dirt road. If only.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Ah, hello! It's lovely to meet you all. I apologize for any awful layout issues, I had some trouble posting this one! I'm very excited to be writing this story, since I've always been in awe of Dragons and magic; things I think fit well within the Kuroshitsuji setting. I have to add that this story will have a slow build up to the actual Sebastian x Ciel relationship, if only for the convenience of plot /but hopefully/ none of you will mind and stick around for a little bit longer. As the story progresses, I promise you, so will the rating. Lastly, I would also like to add that the story Rachel reads in the beginning of this chapter is called: The Four Dragons; a Chinese Folktale on the forming of the four, main rivers in China. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to send a message my way. Until next chapter.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Corvus Nevermore.**


	2. Chapter 2-On the back of a wagon

**Shadow Scales**

 **Chapter 2- On the back of a wagon (Introduction Part II)**

"… _I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth; and you'll know the debt is paid."- George R.R Martin_

At first the boy didn't know why he was awoken from his dreams, the visions of splendour and absolute freedom, twisting into unfamiliar images of behemoths spewing flame. His bedtime reveries started as they always did, with his small frame perched on the back of a dragon, awed fingers dancing over the ridges of glistening, asphalt scales. They were gliding through the sky; the gusts of air causing his nightshirt to bellow and twirl behind him, whilst pleased, little laughs bubbled up from his throat. After a while the beast then started to slow the beating of its wings, before it looped down, kicking up moist earth once they were low enough for its claws to graze the ground. Surveying their new surroundings curiously, Ciel tightened his hold on his dragon steed, somewhat perturbed by the sudden change of course and temperament. The air circling the terra firma was infinitely stuffier without the cool breeze preventing his strands from sticking to his cheeks. Moreover, the temperatures continued to soar as they sailed further across the terrain, the balminess causing the boy to shift uncomfortably within his saddle and the reigns to slip from his sweaty palms. The dragon in turn seemed utterly oblivious to the change, attention firmly set on a Silver Nut tree sprouting from the hill ahead. Before they could reach the dragon's destination, the ground below them started to crack and crumble; scabbed limbs pushing their way through the damp, earth crust. Panicking at the strange sight, Ciel's fingers abandoned the leads as he surged forward, grappling onto the spiralled, black horns budding from either side of the beast's head.

" _Up! Go up!"_ At the insistent tugs and firm hisses, a low rumbling resounded within the dragon's underbelly; causing its black scales to smoulder red, before a torrent of flames were respired towards the Wyverns. Pained screeches followed suite, causing the young Aristocrat's breath to hitch, whilst his small shoulders quivered into a set of dry coughs. With blurred orbs the boy tried to glance back at what remained of the creatures, but the billows of smoke made it hard to breathe properly, much less the irate dragon's flames continued to dance across the landscape, consuming all within reach, the air become all the harder for the child to swallow. Raising a hand to wipe the perspiration from his brow, Ciel wished that he could once again feel the cool caress of the wind upon his flushed face. But with only one hand securing his perch, the boy quickly discarded his yearnings as he felt himself slipping from the beast's back, his sleek fingers unable to grasp for the leather straps.

With his arms flailing wildly the boy tried to steady himself, his alarmed cry erupting into another set of cloying coughs. It wasn't until the urgent murmur of 'young Master' infiltrated his subconscious and a sure lack of impact that Ciel dared to open his eyes again; noticing with some relief that he was still within his bedchamber, creased sheets pooled around his waist. Beside him, the Phantomhive butler stood fiddling with the curtains, a wet cloth pressed over both his nose and mouth. Urging his breathing to even out, Ciel remarked that although his room lacked a dragon, it certainly was not without the blistering heat that accompanied his dream world.

Frowning deftly, the noble kicked his blankets aside, before crawling off of his mattress. _"Old man, it's still dark. What are you doing here and why is it so hot?"_ The butler did not respond at first, his attention solely on the now open window and the grounds that lay beyond. After a terse pause, Tanaka turned to his young charge with renewed earnestness and a strange gleam reflected within his aged hues. _"Young Master, I know this must be terribly strange to you, but we do not have much time."_ Tanaka then swooped forward, begloved palms pressing into the child's shoulders, effectively rooting him in place. _"I fear the manor's security has been compromised. I do not know how or by whom, I only know that we must get you to immediate safety, as per your father's request. If you would be so kind as to follow me."_ As expected, Ciel immediately started to squirm within the retainer's grip; wide, cerulean orbs darting towards his chamber door were thin trails of smoke already leached in from underneath the doorsill. _"What about Mother and Father? If something is wrong we need to get them too!"_ Tanaka merely shook his head, his grip tightening once the boy started to tug his small frame towards the door. _"I beg your pardon, young Master, but we haven't the time to dawdle. This is not a game and you are the one of most import."_ Swallowing the bitter lump that started to lodge within his throat, the butler lifted the child right off his feet, ignoring the faint twinge within his bones as Ciel started to kick and struggle against him. _"No, No! Unhand me at once!"_ Not bothering with his usual polite retort, the servant eased the wriggling body out of the window and onto the shingles below, the dull 'clunk' of his dress shoes following after. The young Phantomhive's lungs burned as he sucked in huffs of crisp air, his brow furrowed upon noticing the black puffs pouring from the lower windows. **'More smoke? Why would there be more smoke?'** Tanaka scarcely gave him a chance to address the issue as he urged his charge toward the roof's edge, his breath raspy from where he hovered over the younger _. "I know you must be confused and rightly terrified, but I need you to be brave in this instant. You must jump onto the terrace down below."_ Peering timidly over the edge, Ciel instantly felt his lower lip tremble, heart clenching in fear of the distance and all out uncertainty of the situation. _"I—I can't. You know it's too far."_ Orbs softening at the tremor he detected within the boy's voice, Tanaka shifted to rest his palm on top of the boy's locks, all the while conscious of the threat prowling the grounds below. " _Come now, young Master. What is the guestroom balcony, likened to the height of the heavens? I am right behind you, as always."_

Ciel blinked furiously at the tears threatening to cloud his vision, his lip still quivering as he eased off of the edge via his stomach. Tanaka had a sturdy hold on both of his thin wrists, seeking to ease his tumble by lowering him further, if only marginally. Yet even with the servant's assistance, the fall onto the terrace proved a hard one, grazing both of the boy's knees and chin. Pushing back onto his feet, Ciel barely managed to choke back a sob as flecks of orange and red invaded his vision; overriding all traces of discomfort and pain. The instant the retainer landed beside him with a laboured gruff, barely steadying himself on the wooden lattice; he motioned for the boy to move away from the glass doors. _"A shame I'm not as young as I used to be. Come, we must make our way down the trellis, across the grounds and into the forest."_ Ciel ignored the winded man however, hues firmly fixed on the destruction consuming the entirety of the bedroom and what he assumed to be the rest of his home. _"M-Mother and Father, they're not still in there are they? Tanaka?"_ Wounding his arms about the boy's middle, the butler quickly swivelled them around, compelling the child to step onto the wooden structure. _"Not now, Master Ciel. We have to climb, for their sake as well as ours. Climb."_ Tears now trailing in sticky rivulets down his cheeks, Ciel started to make his way down the lattice, the thorns from the Golden Showers, grazing his legs and arms and nicking his, crinkled sleepwear. Once his bare feet touched the grass, Ciel stepped back to wipe his hands across his face, the old retainer halfway in his decent. **He could not understand what was happening. Where were his parents? Where they waiting for them inside the forest? Why was the manor on fire; maybe one of the servants had an accident? The servants. Where were the other servants?**

Ciel was yanked from his tangled web of thoughts by an inhuman shriek resounding from his right, the sound eerily familiar to the cry the scabbed limbs made within his dream. Swerving to the side, the noble felt his gut twist up even further, the small tinge of colour left within his visage draining away at the appearance of the dribbling fiend. If Ciel did not know any better, he might have mistaken it for his favourite, mythical beings. Like dragons this beast had a body decked in scales; the colour a murky, swamp green within the faint glimmer of the moon. One pair of wings bulged from either side, whilst a single arrow-shaped tail flicked coyly back and forth, forever the smug hunter ready to pounce. The creature had no front claws to speak of, nor horns or spikes to armour his body and when he sucked in a breath, it was not a torrent of flames that heaved from the creature's maw, but a stream of black sludge that caused everything it touched to sizzle; before dissolving it into naught but a sickly puddle. Peering up at the creature he surmised to be an actual Wyvern, immortal enemy of both dragons and men, Ciel felt his lean legs sway and his heart fluctuate; his mouth completely devoid of any spit. He wanted to cry out, to blink, but his mind and body was completely frozen in place, watching the Wyvern in fear as it continued to slobber and each lift of its legs closing the distance between them.

As the Wyvern unhinged its mandible to emit another flow of toxic sludge, there was the tell-tale click of a loadstone sliding into place, before all the particles of magic started to fizzle within the air. Turning his head to the lattice, Ciel watched as Tanaka pulled the trigger of a weapon identical to the one his Father kept above the parlour fireplace, a bright blue blast of enchanted energy rocketing towards the creature, blasting it onto its back. _"Young Master! I'm afraid this calibre of a weapon will merely stun the creatures. You must run!"_ Ciel's finger's coiled into a fist, the salty tears running anew as the little Lord managed to ground out a whine. _"Don't be stupid old man, I can't leave you too!"_ Tanaka paused in reloading the weapon, the faintest of smiles quirking at the corners of his mouth. _"Young Master, what an absurd thing to say."_ Quickly altering his hold on his weapon, the servant shifted to rummage through the folds of his livery. When he finally clasped onto one of his dearest of possessions, he held it firmly between soot-dabbled fingers, savouring the familiar tick-tocking for but a moment. Once satisfied (the sound forever ingrained within the crevices of his mind) he hurled the silver trinket towards his indignant, young charge; whom with a gasp and fumbling fingers managed to catch it just before it ploughed into the dirt. _"You won't be leaving me. You will purely aid me in my task of giving you a head start. On you go!"_ Choking on words of refusal, the boy quickly turned on his heel, willing his burning legs to work. Ciel sped down the vast expanse of lawn on many summer days, the warmth of Elizabeth's jubilant giggle echoing behind him, merged with the eager applause of Aunt Anne who gazed tenderly at them from underneath the brim of her hat. Now the only sounds Ciel could distinguish were the hammering of his heart and the definite fizzle of magic particles as Tanaka released the trigger for a second time.

The fire crackled genially within the small camp, illuminating the rough faces of the men huddled around it. The leader of the band had a cigarette tucked between his teeth, a nasty scar extending across his forehead and over the bridge of his nose. His hair was slicked back from his angular face, the multiple rings piercing his lobes suggesting that he was not of this region, but rather a Carny under the influence of the feared Ferro family. Said clan could only be described as die-hard opportunists, not partaking in the war efforts, but definitely profiting from all of the unnecessary blood-shed. The Ferros' various associates dealt in all aberrant acts; from distributing narcotics, particle weaponry and intel, to pilfering the Order's warehouses for supplies. What set the Ferro family apart from the many felons lurking about the London underground however; was their hand within the body trade- a nasty business were the forms of those who had the slightest bit of magical potential, were sold off to the highest bidder. The Order itself has been trying to disperse of the trade for quite some time, but with paltry success. Since resources were stretched severely thin due to the increase in Wyvern activity within the Northern Isles, there were just not enough eyes to pinpoint the Carnies' ever-changing locations.

It was with the sole intent of making a hefty profit that said particular band was stationed within the clearing, their sources having reported a hoard of Wyverns roving the area. As terrifying and ferocious as the winged beasts were, they also stunk of coin. Many apothecaries and avid collectors were eager as to get their hands on the rough scabs or a small sample of the beasts' simmering venom, but not brave enough as to stun the creatures themselves. It was for this cause alone that Azzurro Vanel risked the hide of his lackeys and that of his own by venturing onto the border signalling the Catalan territories. Sucking avidly on the Tabaco stick, Vanel stood, a rough boot coming to rest against a stuffed crate _. "Alright you useless curs, make sure the wagons are secure and that the Capsicum shells are in place. I don't want to be caught off guard by a vengeful mass of lizards coming up from behind!"_ The order was followed by a collective _"Yessir!"_ before some of the flunkies surged to their feet, eager to fortify their recent pillage. Vanel peered at them with a condescending smirk forming around the bud of his cigarette, blunt nails brushing against his breast pocket in timely strokes. He was pleased with the night's events, for not only did he and his men manage to stun two of the rowdy creatures; but the band also succeeded in gathering a barrel of scabs and four vials of Wyvern gunk, a paragon plunder that would not have been possible if the rest of the reptiles were not so preoccupied with the unceasing, swirls of smoke wafting up passed the treetops.

Following the dark puffs with the curious narrow of his eyes, Vanel briefly wondered who he had to thank for the small stroke of fortune, before his interest was quickly pulled to his left; the faint rustling of leaves and the ricochet of twigs snapping causing all of the Carnies to drop what they were doing; tanned, grimy hands reaching for their weapons in tandem. Aiming their arms at the surrounding greenery, the men was more than surprised when an unknown body suddenly broke through the shrubbery, toppling into their encampment like a wound-up doll who had reached the end of its coil. Being the first of the crooks to recover from his initial alarm, Vanel spat what remained of his roll-up on the ground, before lowering his boot from its perch. _"What the…hell…?"_

From his vantage point the little interloper could be naught but a child, a datum that was soon verified as the body eased onto its knees, small arms shifting to poke at his tender side. The child was clad in naught but a stained nightshirt, the fabric clinging to his heaving frame like a second skin. But even with the splotches of grime and blood crusted into the fabric, the keen eyes of a Ferro kinsman could detect the superior quality of silk. **My, oh my. His lucky streak has yet to end, it would seem.** Shifting closer to their unexpected guest, the carny's shark-like grin slipped back in place once boy's head snapped up, red-rimmed hues widening, before he tried to scramble onto the pads of his feet. _"It looks like the Golden Goose just landed within our laps boys. 'Tis night is truly ours!"_ A boom of raucous laughter parroted Vanel's statement, the men at ease once more, before two of the felons appeared behind the youth, hastily lifting him from the ground. Having been in this line of work since he was but a wee lad, Vanel knew a rare probability when he saw one, thus, if it was not for the costly garment, the boy's unusually, dainty features would serve as the telling precursor. He was of noble decent and if some blue blood festered through his young veins, then the delicious probability for magic festered as well. Pausing in front of his struggling captive, the carny continued to inspect the boy, surmising that he was likely fleeing from the Wyverns, hence his current state of dress and anxiety. Leaning forward, his ringed fingers clasped onto the bleeding chin with some force, causing the child to wince as two petrified pools locked onto his own. _"Now then, little duckling, do you have a name?"_

Ciel refused to answer, or rather he couldn't, his tongue too arid and his mind completely numb with fatigue. He was sure, so sure that the firelight he saw glinting through the foliage was his parents, eagerly awaiting him and the old man; and if by some chance it wasn't them, then surely it was the Order. Now, sweeping his burning hues over the gruff faces of his audience, the young aristocrat could not help but start his squirming afresh, thin arms and legs screaming at the movement. **These were not soldiers. They were not even here to help him, he had to get away!** At the show of childlike defiance, Azzurro Vanel exhaled a raspy chuckle, relinquishing his hold on his little prize. _"No? That's just as well then. You won't need a name where you're going son."_ The carny chuckled o'er as he gestured towards the tan men holding Ciel in place. "Tie him up and toss him in the wagon with the rest of the goods. We leave at dawn." He then moved to the side, fully intent on lighting up another tobacco stick when his sharp hues sighted the faint shimmer of polished metal imbedded in the dirt. Smirking keenly, Vanel scooped up the trinket, revelling in the graciousness of Lady Luck, his luck, once more.

 **Note: Phew! Welcome back to Shadow Scales! I would like to start off this note by saying thank you to each and every one who took the time to read the first instalment. Based on the word count, this one might be a *tad* longer than the first, but only because I am so very impatient for all of you to get to the good parts! I would be lying if I said I didn't have some trouble typing the parts of the young Master, since I wanted him to be both the coddled, little boy he was before the contract, coupled with some traces of his intelligence and much loved haughty quirks. A tall order, but I assure you, you will see more of Ciel's "Cielness" as the story moves along and he meets up with his contractor. With that said, I think you will all be pleased to know that the next chapter introduces Sebastian the Sly (properly at least) and will move more in the direction of the actual plot. Vanel is not an OC, he is the Italian mafia member who kidnapped Ciel in the first chapter. Yeah, remember him? Lastly note that the quote used in the beginning is from 'A clash of Kings' and so terribly akin to Ciel I could not resist. Don't forget to hit me up if you have any questions! Until next chapter.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **CN**


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